


Rise of the Valkyrie

by allylayne43



Series: Valkyrie [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aragorn Angst, BAMF Female Characters, F/F, F/M, Fellowship of the Ring, Female original character - Freeform, Internal Conflict, Lord of the Rings, Lord of the Rings OC, M/M, Minor Gimli/Legolas Greenleaf, Not a Mary Sue, Original Character(s), Protective Legolas Greenleaf, Sheildmaiden, Shieldmaiden OC, Valkyrie - Freeform, the fellowship are bros, Éomer Being an Asshole, Éomer and Aragorn frienship, Éomer angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:13:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allylayne43/pseuds/allylayne43
Summary: Wilda has been raised since birth to become a shieldmaiden like her mother before her. Hilda, Wilda's mother, was the most famous shieldmaiden in all of Rohan and was known all across Middle Earth for her adventures with Gandalf the Grey and her famous military prowess. Hilda planned to help Wilda achieve greatness but was unable to finish her training when a battle ended her life and left her daughter an orphan.For ten years Wilda has been living in Meduseld along with the King, Théoden, his son Théodred, and his sister's orphaned children Eowyn and Eomer. In that short span of time, she became close with Eowyn, has formed a formidable hatred for Eomer, and has been training alongside the male warriors hoping to one day follow in her mother's footsteps. But when a letter is sent from Imladris, calling for her to meet with Lord Elrond's council at Gandalf's request- she is forced to put her training to use and step up to become the shieldmaiden she was born to be.If only it was that simple.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Original Female Character(s), Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Aragorn | Estel/Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Original Female Character(s), Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Original Female Character(s), Frodo Baggins & Sam Gamgee, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Legolas Greenleaf & Original Female Character(s), Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Character(s), Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took, The Fellowship of the Ring/Original Female Character(s), Éomer Éadig & Lothíriel, Éomer Éadig & Original Female Character(s), Éomer Éadig & The Fellowship of the Ring, Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel, Éomer Éadig/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Valkyrie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618600
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. the death of a Valkyrie

**Author's Note:**

> this is what happens when a Valkyrie falls in battle  
> and this is what happens when she has kept a secret for too long

"Gandalf, you must tell her-"

"Nay, peace, my friend. You will be able to tell her yourself."

A cough rang out in the worn healer's tent as a tall willowy figure in grey stood above a pale blonde woman laying down on a rickety cot in the cold. Her coughs were only echoed by the howling wind that beat against the thick canvas of the tent.

The woman tried to hold in the coughs and did her best to save her energy to tell Gandalf what he needed to know. Blood was spewing from a wound in her left abdomen, and she did her best to hold a cloth over it to dispell the bleeding.

But she knew it would not do her any good.

Her hand slowly came off the cloth and she grabbed onto the grey wizard's arm desperately. "My Wilda, please, you must tell my Wilda what she shall know-"

"Hush, Hilda, hush," Gandalf cut her off once again, moving to sit at her side. He placed a hand over her wound and closed his eyes, feeling the magic of the Maiar run through his veins-

But Hilda of Rohan, the famed Valkaryie, a warrior Shieldmaiden, grabbed his hand in her own. She knew when a battle was worth fighting, but she also knew when a battle was worth surrendering.

This battle she was fighting was going to be her last.

"Gandalf-" she coughed. "My friend, you must tell my Wilda..." her voice rasped, before choking off into more coughs that were filled with blood. Red stained her lips, and iron her tongue.

The wizard, looking down at her bloody hands staining his own, let out a sigh. Hilda was not one to argue or fight against. Her stubbornness could overtake an entire army of dwarves, even if they were a descent of Durin himself.

"What must I tell her?"

Her breathing was now coming out in wheezes full of fluid. Gandalf did his best to keep her afloat from drowning in her own blood, but the wizard knew that would be the Valkaryie's final fate.

"Wilda... she must know..."

He took her shoulders, staining the dusty tan tunic she wore, red. "Hilda, tell me what your daughter shall know."

The shieldmaiden's dark eyes flickered. The wizard refused for her to go this quickly. He shook her shoulders, wringing her head back and forth at the movement. "What shall she know, Hilda?"

Her eyes were dimming. The tunnel surrounding her vision was getting narrower, entombing all that she was...

"Hilda!"

A cough, deep and guttural sounded out, and suddenly Hilda found strength she had not felt before. She whipped her head up and stared straight into the eyes of her friend. "Gandalf... I feel so cold..."

He looked down at her with melancholic eyes. "Yes, I know, dear one."

"Wilda will not be safe..." she took a deep, wheezing breath. "She will not be safe... not be safe in Rohan."

This was news for him. "Hilda, what do you mean? Why will Wilda not be safe in Rohan?"

She blinked.

Blood fell from the corner of her mouth.

"Nec... Necromancer," she rasped. "He will... he will know..."

Gandalf felt his face pale. "What of the Necromancer, Hilda? What do you know?"

Hilda did her best to stay awake. She really did. Gandalf had to know, he just had to... why had she kept quiet? Did she think she would live forever? She was a fool, she knew. She was a fool who now would kill her daughter for this mistake.

"Wit-Witch, a witch, witch Easterling-" she choked. Hilda could hear her words were blending together, but she was adamant he knew. So that one day Wilda would know. "Wilda will need to kill... " she coughed, "need to kill necro-necromancer..."

Her voice was barely coming out as a whisper, now.

Gandalf, eyes wide and face pale, gazed down upon his dear friend with a strong feeling of terror running through his veins. Wilda was but a child, how could a child do such things?

And if the Easterling Witch knew, the necromancer would know too.

"Why would Wilda need to kill the Necromancer, why shall Wilda perform this bidding?" he asked, bending down to ask into her ear. "Why Wilda?"

He leaned back over Hilda, as her lips grazed his ear, "So he..." a shallow breath, "so he will not kill... not kill her first..."

Gandalf pursed his lips.

Hilda took her last breath.

The grey wizard looked down upon his friend one last time and closed her unseeing eyes while whispering a prayer to the Valar.

Gandalf prayed for Hilda, may she find rest and peace in the halls of her forefathers. May Wilda find strength in the aftermath of becoming an orphan and find someone who she can lean on. May Rohan remain strong after the loss of their precious Valkyrie.

And may the Necromancer never learn of Wilda's fate.

For all their sakes.


	2. A Woman Among Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilda is forced away from what she loves

Wilda, daughter of Hilda the famed shieldmaiden of the Eorlingas, found herself in the middle of a mass of men. Nay, she was not a woman who was begging for a suitor. She wasn’t looking for a husband to take care of her, to give her babes. 

She was among them, riding her beloved horse Wiglaf, charging with the  Éored of the East-Mark under  Éomer’s command. The large horseman had always shrouded her every move, making sure she was up to the challenge of riding in his ranks. He pushed her harder than anyone else, something she despised him for.

The evening before, a band of orcs had been spotted just 12 around leagues east of Aldburg, her home, and right outside the Entwash river. Éomer determined they should ride out that next morning, to strike them with the light of day on their side. 

He had been right, as a large band of orcs was blatantly clear just outside of the Entwash as their source had claimed. 

Hildred, the carrier of the horn, let it sound. They were at battle. 

She readied her bow, pulling back and letting it loose in the span of a breath. In and out. Another arrow, another target. Wilda knew to aim for the throat or eyes, promising death. The throat was easier, a larger target. But the eyes remained uncovered. 

As soon as the orcs met the Éored head-on, she let herself continue to fire arrows as she was behind two rows of her fellow kinsmen. However, as soon as the orcs started to surpass them, she adapted to another kind of warfare. 

_ Næġling _ , her sword gifted to her from her mother, sang once released from its sheath. Wiglaf, the ever-faithful steed, knocked down and trampled over anything that got in his path, allowing her to guard the sides and slash at any oncoming orcs he missed.

But this time, she wasn’t so lucky. 

_ “Wilda!”  _ One of her companions cried out, just before she felt a sudden pain in her leg.

She cursed, forcing herself to ignore the sting of the orc’s jagged blade before slicing off its head with  _ Næġling  _ in one fell swipe. Anger fueled her for the next onslaught of orcs, but she quickly grew tired.

_ Blood loss. _

Her grip tightened on her sword. She wouldn’t let herself bow out now. Not when her kin needed her. Wilda quickly scanned the field, slicing a path of orcs as Wiglaf moved through with her kin around her. 

To the right, she noticed an orc sneaking to an uncovered flank of one of the men. “Laerig! Drop!” She screamed, sheathing her sword and angling her bow in the span of two breaths.

One.

The orc got even closer, but luckily Laerig seemed to have heard her voice amongst the chaos.

Two.

He flung himself forward and moved his chest to the neck of his horse, just in time for Wilda to get the shot just right. 

An arrow, straight and narrow, nailed the orc in its right eye.

Laerig looked at the orc and back at Wilda in shock, evident to the eyes of a skilled markswoman. She spared him a nod, then scanned the field once more as the number of orcs started to diminish. A few arrows later, and the number was even lower.

Éomer’s bark cut through the field.  “Wilda, right!”

Using the arrow she pulled from her quiver, she turned to her right and stabbed an oncoming orc in the throat. The black blood fanned out and spattered, spitting across her face and some sank into her mouth that was still open in shock. 

It was a taste she could have lived her entire life and not cared to experience, but alas, here she was. 

She turned her head back to the left to see  Éomer looking at her with daggers in his eyes, but he quickly averted his gaze to finish off the orcs. His kill count must have been far more than what any other member of the Éored had, considering how he slaughtered the beasts with deadly ease. 

Had she not known him to have mischief hidden in his eyes, she would have thought him a cold-hearted man, not just a fierce warrior.

Éomer was well-against Wilda from acting as a shieldmaiden in his ranks, as she knew well. He thought that if she continued to fight, then Éowyn, his sister, would soon gain the right to do the same. That was the last thing that he wanted if Wilda had learned anything from the angry tirades he had about that topic.

A part of Wilda thought he saw her like a sister, another woman that should be under his protection. But she didn’t need an egotistical elder brother to protect her. She had to uphold her family honor and fight just as her mother did.

“Gather the bodies, we will burn them in groups,” Éomer grunted, as the remaining members of the Éored gathered together after the orcs were completely killed. The healers who fought with us quickly moved to help the injured as soon as Éomer disbanded the men.

“Wilda, you are with me,” the Third Marshal of the Riddermark spoke, and she immediately cursed underneath her breath. She knew Éomer wouldn’t let it be that she had nearly been sliced up like a chicken.

However little she wanted to be reprimanded by him  _ again _ , Wilda knew she had little choice since the man was in charge. She prodded Wiglaf toward the Lord, who was sitting there astride his mighty Meara descent Firefoot, a horse who had a habit of scaring the other horses (and riders) senseless.

“Yes, Third Marshal?”

The golden-haired, dark-eyed Horse Lord stared her down imperiously. “Bema save us if you are to be the next  _ Valkyrie _ ,” he mocked. “What do you believe you were doing out there? You nearly had yourself killed, let alone-”

Wilda couldn’t contain herself. “I am just as good as anyone else in this Éored-”

He grunted. “You are a danger to yourself and the others more than anyone I have ever met.”

She scowled, looking deep into the dark eyes of her Third Marshal. “You do not believe that, and we both know it  _ Lord Éomer. _ ”

His arms crossed and immediately dropped down from Fleetfoot, before reaching out and dragging Wilda down off Wiglaf to fall to his level. “This is serious, Wilda. You are not cut out to be here.”

She winced at the feeling the gash on her leg after being forced to put weight on it but gritted her teeth to hide that weakness from the proud Horse Lord. “If it were up to you, your sister and I would have never been trained in the art of fighting,” she scolded. “It does not matter whether I am a woman or a man, and you will not take my destiny away from me.”

The glare angled down toward her could have sent lesser men running. “Do not bring  _ my sister _ into this.”

Wilda scoffed, crossing her own arms in front of her chest but made one fatal mistake. She leaned on one leg, which happened to be the one an orc caught in the scuffle. This time, Éomer did not miss the wince at her movement.

The glare immediately wavered off and fell into a look of worry mixed with confusion. There was a dent between his darkened eyebrows that always showed up in times like these. “What? What is wrong?”

She pursed her lips, looking down at her leg as though it had betrayed her. Which, arguably, it had. “Just a scrape from an orc, there’s nothing wrong.”

His eyebrows raised. “Nothing wrong? You don’t wince for  _ nothing _ , now that is something we both can agree on.”

Wilda let out a heavy breath. “It’s just a scrape, Lord Éomer.”

He let out a low grunt. “I can be the judge of that.”

Before she could do anything to stop him or move out of the way, he was suddenly kneeling in the dirt before her like a common beggar, moving his hand along her thigh to search for what was ailing her. 

“Wilda…”

She huffed. “I am fine-”

His hand moved the fabric away from the wound, and Wilda immediately hissed at the feeling of it being pulled away from the jagged flesh. 

“This is not what one should ever call a mere  _ scrape _ , you mad woman,” Éomer stated, letting out a firm sigh before looking up and scanning the fields. “We need to find you a healer, then you are going back home.”

Her eyes narrowed down at the blond. “What do you mean, go home? I am a part of this Éored, whether you-”

He looked at her sternly and stood in front of her adding to the imperiousness that he upheld. “You have no claim in this Éored, and I am the Third Marshal who leads you, Wilda of Aldburg. If I tell you to go home, you will be going home.”

She swallowed the spit pooling in her mouth and her hands turned to fists at her sides. “You cannot do this, Lord Éomer-”

His sharp gaze cut her off. “I can and I will. You will be heading to Medesuld to be with my sister, where she will teach you how to act like a Lady of your house and standing.”

Wilda snorted, rolling her eyes at the man. “Like Éowyn would make me do such a thing. She hates the finery as much as I do.”

He raised a brow. “Then the two of you will sulk off in the fine gowns the courts shall expect you to wear together.”

She scowled. “You should not do this, you will only be aiding the evil in this world by not letting me train alongside you men. I need to be ready-”

“For what?” He seethed. “Do you not think that we will do our duties and keep the women and children safe?”

“No, you are merely placing words in my mouth!”

“Then go to Medesuld and do whatever it is that Ladies learn to do.”

Wilda groaned, nearly stomping out her frustrations into the mudded ground. “You are absolutely despicable! The prophecy was given and states that I will have to face whoever this Necromancer is-”

A wry grin drifted along Éomer’s features. “Prophecy? I will not place my men in the hands of some words stated from an old hag years ago.”

Her glare sliced into his own. “You will regret this.”

The large man looked down upon the woman who he once called a friend. Now, she had become a thorn right in his backside. “I will never regret keeping you from harm, Wilda.”

Her jaw tightened, and her words seethed through her teeth, “That is not a decision for you to make,  _ Lord Éomer. _ ”

The smirk in reply goaded her. “You are not the Third Marshal of the Mark, you mad woman. I am, and this is what I am ordering you to do.” Éomer turned on his heel and mounted Firefoot with elvish ease. “Halfrin and Laerig will be accompanying you back to Edoras. I do wish you the best, my friend.”

She grimaced up at the man. “You cannot treat me this way and call me a friend, Horse Lord.”

His accompanying grin reminded her of a distant time. “I will do what I want, you mad woman.” 

Wilda felt something tighten in her chest as the golden-haired man rode off to join the others a part of the Éored. Like he had told her, the two scouts that now were her bodyguards were left behind and trotted atop their steeds to get to her side.

“We shall be there by nightfall if we leave now,” Laerig told her, a knowing look glimmering in his eyes. “I am sorry that you are so distressed, but I do believe he is doing what he thinks is right-”

“What he thinks to be right is hogwash!” Wilda exclaimed, her eyes locked onto the ashy horse and its rider that continued off and through the winding fields. “I cannot stand that man.”

Halfrin, a young brunet, and a rather strapping lad looked down at her with a half-hearted grin. “You at least will be in good company with the Lady Éowyn at your side.”

Wilda sighed and used her good leg to climb up on the saddle of Wiglaf. “Yes, but that also means I will be stuck with the  _ Worm _ .”

The two riders shifted in their saddles. “You should be careful who you say that to, Lady Wilda,” Laerig warned, his blue eyes widening in earnestness. “My sister claimed one of the Lords who dared speak up against him found his throat cut the next morn.”

Wilda hummed in acknowledgment and clicked her tongue to get Wiglaf into place. Yes, she had heard that too. He was a dear friend of her mother’s old stablehand, who came to her with the news. 

Her back straightened. It was time someone dealt with the Worm, and if Éomer was making her go back to Edoras, she might as well get something out of it.


End file.
